Bridges, and How to Burn Them
by ohlawsons
Summary: See, the thing about revenge is that it's a funny thing. It makes you do things you wouldn't normally, and most people aren't very fond of being hunted down in the name of justice. A set of connected one-shots spanning SR2-4. f!boss/Shaundi and m!boss/Johnny pairings. Requests welcome.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **I've never written for Saints Row before, so here goes. _  
_I'm guessing this will end up more of a collection of one-shots than an actual coherent story, especially since 1) I'd like to finish this, 2) this will ideally cover the second through fourth games, and 3) this way I can hit the important stuff and also take requests. I'm also cheating by using both of my SR characters bc I can't choose between them - Carmen, my f!boss who likes fast cars and shooting stuff and has the biggest crush on Shaundi, and Elliot, my m!boss who's an accidental hipster and head over heels for Johnny. _

_So. Here's a quick introduction to Carmen and Elliot. If there's anything specific you'd like to see, let me know! Thanks for reading!_

* * *

"I didn't expect to find you working here."

As Elliot sat across from Carmen, he cracked a smile. "Go on, be honest. You didn't expect to find me working _here_, or working _at all_?"

She shrugged. "Both." Carmen took a sip of the beer Elliot had brought her, cradling the cold glass in her hands as a dozen thoughts ran through her mind. "So this is really it? All the other Saints are gone?"

"All the Saints are gone," he corrected her. "After I got out of prison, Stilwater was already full of other gangs running around. No way I was getting caught up in that alone."

"Right." Carmen's eyes flicked over Elliot – his close cut beard, neatly styled hair, fitted grey vest – and she let out a snort of laughter. "How did prison work out for you?"

Rolling his eyes, Elliot leaned back and crossed his arms. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh. I was only there for a few weeks. Official word was that I was a suspect in the Hughes' yacht explosion, but according to Bradshaw, he just wanted me off the streets for a while. I'm hard to predict, or something."

"Yeah, I heard about Troy." Tapping her short nails against the bottle, Carmen gave her head a little shake and sighed. "You want back in?"

"In?"

"Yeah. I mean, you're working in this shit hole of a bar and I've got—" Digging in the pockets of her newly acquired sweats, Carmen pulled out a wad of cash. "—like twenty bucks, and if we break back into that prison, we'll have Johnny. Plus, there's that kid, Carlos, I was telling you about. Add all that together, and the Saints are off to a decent start."

"I can do you one better," Elliot offered, leaning forward on the table. "Johnny's in court tomorrow. We get there soon enough, and we won't even have to break into prison."

Carmen grinned, any doubts gone. "Sounds like a plan. You have a place I can crash for the night?"

"Not unless you want to sleep on the floor. See if you can borrow Aisha's couch."

"Alright." Downing the last of the beer, Carmen stood to leave. "You drive in the morning. And take a shower – you smell like hookers and cheap alcohol."

* * *

Elliot's car was the same piece of shit as it had been the last time Carmen had driven in it over two years ago. One long, deep scratch on the passenger door, a transmission that sounded moments from giving out completely, a pair of sun-bleached fuzzy dice on the rearview mirror, and the faint odor of mothballs that wafted from the backseat.

As a mechanic, it made her stomach churn.

"You _have_ to let me fix this up," she mumbled thoughtlessly, running a light finger over a hole in the seat, something that looked suspiciously like a bullet hole.

"I've told you, I'm not letting you touch my car." Setting his pair of pistols on the console, Elliot reached into the backseat and pulled out a rifle. "It's not a shotgun," he shrugged as he handed it off to Carmen, "but it's better than nothing."

She glanced over the gun and nodded. "It'll do. Let's go."

They stepped out of the car, heading up towards the station in unison. Elliot ducked through a side entrance, pulling Carmen along after him before she could pick a fight. "The courtroom should be right up this stairwell. Let's try to grab Johnny _before_ we take out half the police force, shall we?"

She grunted in agreement, adjusting her grip on the rifle before leading the way up the stairs. Though Carmen wouldn't ever admit it, she was _itching_ for a fight. Part of it, she supposed, was the slow burning desire for revenge, a heat that ached in her chest anytime she thought about Julius, or Troy, or the Row.

But part of it was just restlessness. After spending two years lying motionless on a hospital bed, Carmen was eager to stretch her legs a bit. She rounded the final corner and emerged into the main hall, and found the chance she was looking for.

A few quick bursts of shots from her rifle downed the two cops in front of the door that – she assumed – led to the courtroom they were looking for. As she reloaded the rifle, Elliot stepped ahead of her and kicked open the door, firing a few precise shots before reaching down for a blood-spattered pistol and set of keys, tossing the latter across the room. Carmen followed, grinning at Johnny, who looked no worse for wear – save for a badly fitted suit and the handcuffs that he let drop to the floor.

"Nice timing," he complimented, easily catching the extra pistol that Elliot tossed to him. "Though, I wouldn't have minded a rescue _before_ I spent two fucking years in prison."

"Tough," Carmen shot back. "Let's get out of here."

The police offered surprisingly little resistance as the trio fought their way through the narrow halls, reaching the main staircase with relative ease. The main lobby was more of a challenge; as heavily armored soldiers marched through the front doors, Carmen ducked behind a column and ended up shoulder to shoulder with Johnny, who had found the same cover as Carmen.

With a wide, adrenaline-fueled grin, Carmen motioned silently for Johnny to stay put, then revealed a single grenade. Tossing the explosive down into the cop-filled lobby, Carmen used the brief distraction to sprint to a downed policeman and grab his shotgun. She dove back into cover and offered the rifle to Johnny. "Give 'em hell." She began to turn away, then hesitated and added, "And don't hit me."

Turning, Carmen hopped over the low glass railing, landing clumsily on the first landing of the stairway. Two loud shots from her new gun took care of the cops in front of her, and a barrage of bullets from above her took care of the other cops near the door.

"They brought in a fucking SWAT team," she called up to Elliot and Johnny as they followed her down the stairs. "We've gotta get out of here."

"Where's the car?"

"My car's around back," Elliot admitted, "but if we're being shot at maybe we could—"

"On it." Instead of waiting for him to finish, Carmen was out the door and in a police car, throwing it into reverse. She hit at least two cops and nearly hit Elliot, but he and Johnny managed to get in without any trouble.

Still under fire, Carmen reached over and flipped on the lights, then slammed on the gas. "We'll drop this somewhere and find a different car, then head over to Aisha's. That's where my shit is, and I'm guessing no one here is going to argue?"

"It's where I was going to suggest, anyway. How's she doing? I thought—" Johnny's words faded out of earshot as he leaned out the window to shoot at a pursuing cop car. "—couple of days ago?"

"I went straight to her last night after I got out," Carmen explained casually, a new rush of adrenaline surging through her as she made a hard left, the car skidding up onto two wheels for a fraction of a second. "I haven't exactly been keeping up with the rent since being in a coma, y'know? She's doing good, all things considered, I think."

"Aisha?" Elliot leaned forward, gripping onto the bars that separated him from the front seat and holding tightly onto them as the car swerved again. "She probably wants to apologize for not coming to visit lately. Some students at the university ran a feature on her. They think she's not dead. Fucking conspiracy theorists," he added with a derisive snort.

"You still keeping up with her?"

"Yeah – I'm _real_ acquainted with her couch. Especially on months I can't make rent."

Gritting her teeth as the back window was shot completely out, Carmen did her best to coax a bit more speed from the car. "Would you two focus less on the _gossip_ and more on the guys _shooting _at us?"

From the corner of her eye, she just caught Johnny's shrug. "Out of ammo."

"Same," Elliot chimed in.

Shoulders dropping, Carmen groaned in frustration. She pulled out her second and final grenade and handed it back through the bars to Elliot. "Make it count. _Don't_ fucking miss."

"I never do."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_Sorry for the short chapter. I'd started off going through all the recruitment missions but it was a bit... boring, honestly, so I cut most of it. I'm still trying to figure out a good balance between showing in game events and showing other stuff specific to Carmen and Elliot. _

_Anyway, thanks for reading!_

* * *

"So." Carmen set her burger down on its greasy wrapper, grabbing a fry to shove into her already full mouth. "What now?"

"We find somewhere to set up," Elliot muttered glumly, sipping loudly at his drink. He wasn't fond of _any_ fast food, but Freckle Bitches was the absolute _worst_ and Carmen and Johnny's mutual fascination with the place nearly made him sick. "The old church is out of the question, by the way. It's nothing but a tourist trap now."

"Ultor," Johnny supplied helpfully.

Taking another bite of her burger, Carmen managed, "Yeah, I dropped by there yesterday."

"I've been thinkin'." Johnny leaned forward, sliding the box of Carmen's fries over and taking a few for himself before continuing. "We could clear out that old mission. There's some Samedi holed up down there, but nothing the three of us can't handle."

"Does it have to be _another_ fucking church?" Elliot mumbled, slouching down in his chair and covering his face in his hands.

Carmen gave an unimpressed _pffft_ and, though Elliot couldn't see her face, he was certain she rolled her eyes. "You're in a bad mood. You don't get a say."

"We're not staying in the _church_," Johnny explained. "See, a while back there was this earthquake that dropped part of the city below ground, and stuff was just rebuilt on top of it."

"Which means there's plenty of room under that old mission?" Carmen guessed.

"Exactly."

There was a loud screech as she pushed her chair back. "I'm in. Come on." As she stood, she reached over and ruffled Elliot's hair.

"Fuck off," Elliot grumbled, grabbing his mostly empty drink as he stood and trudging after Carmen and Johnny. Once they were outside, he called, "And this can't wait until tomorrow?"

"Nah. You're not coming." Carmen tossed a set of keys to Elliot –_ his _keys, he noted – and inspected a pair of unattended motorcycles as she explained, "Me and Johnny can take care of this. You're in charge of recruitment."

He scoffed. "What – just stand on street corners and ask everyone who walks by?"

"That's kinda how I joined, so, yeah. Whatever works."

"I met a few people in prison who might be willing to help us out," Johnny added. "I'll call you in the morning."

"Right." Turning the keys over in his hand, Elliot watched as Carmen and Johnny sped off on the stolen bikes, raking his fingers through his hair and sighing to himself before sliding into his car. _It's good they're back_, he thought, but he wasn't quite sure he'd convinced himself. Maybe he'd feel better about it all once the Saints were _really_ back, once they had the numbers and the territory that they'd had before.

It wasn't that he didn't like having Johnny and Carmen back around – far from it. Carmen was a pain in the ass, but she was a friend. And Johnny? Elliot was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that death row was no longer a threat; saying it was good to have him back was a massive understatement. The issue, he supposed, was that the Saints _were_ going to come back. It hadn't been long – or rather, didn't _seem_ like long – since Elliot had tried to revive the Saints himself. It had been stupid to try, really; a few months after the explosion that had landed Carmen in the hospital, he'd tried to rally the remaining Saints and retake some of the territory they'd lost.

It had almost worked, at first. But Elliot didn't command respect the way Julius or Johnny or even Carmen had, and the combined threat of three new gangs had driven most of the remaining Saints away before long. Things might have been different if Elliot had been able to take action immediately, instead of being stuck in prison for a few weeks while the leaderless gang grew more and more scattered. But they weren't, and the Saints had eventually dwindled in numbers until there was only Elliot, and he'd had to give up his attempts. It had been a long string of bars and strip clubs and dirty hotel rooms after that, all ways to distract himself from what had seemed, at the time, a complete, life-ruining failure. Then came the desperation – for a job, for the landlords to forgive the late rent _just this once_, for Aisha to give him a place to stay when they didn't. Working at the bar hadn't been the _best_ job, but it (usually) paid the bills, and Elliot hadn't really been able to plan for much more before Carmen had shown up entirely unexpectedly with the crazy idea of remaking the Saints.

The fact that she was going to do it and _succeed_ made Elliot wonder if he could've, too, if he hadn't given up. It made the past year seem like a waste, really.

But by the time Elliot had worked through all his thoughts on the subject, he'd reached his dingy downtown apartment. He parked, shoving the keys in his pocket, and took the elevator up to the third floor.

Apartment 307 wasn't much to look at. A bed with dirty clothes lying at its feet, a couch with questionable stains that had belonged to the apartment's previous owner, and a small kitchen that somehow always smelled a little like fish. Elliot kicked off his shoes and left them near the door and tugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the couch. As he pulled his shirt over his head, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Letting the shirt fall to the floor, he grabbed his phone and collapsed into bed, still in his jeans.

_Check it out!_ The message was sent from Johnny's phone, but Elliot assumed Carmen was the sender. There was an attached picture, with a grinning Carmen only half in frame. Behind her was a ruined staircase and what looked like a handful of bodies.

_It's not exactly what I picture when I think Saints HQ_, Elliot typed back.

A moment later, his phone buzzed again. _Yeah me and Johnny are thinking it's missing some stripper poles?_

He chuckled despite himself. Before he could type a response, Carmen sent a second text.

_Johnny says once we get this place cleaned up a bit he'll send you the people to check out tomorrow. We'll get a plan figured out and meet you here sometime tomorrow afternoon. Carmen out._

Tossing the phone onto the couch – and groaning as it clattered to the floor – Elliot buried his face in his pillow and did his best to get at least some sleep.

* * *

"Carlos?"

"Hey, Carmen."

Giving him a quick clap on the shoulder, Carmen led Carlos into the main area, where Johnny lounged on the beat up couch they'd found that morning. Shaundi sat on the arm of the couch and Pierce stood behind them. "Alright," she began, calling for everyone's attention. "While Elliot's still out recruiting, the five of us need to figure out the basics. We need guns, we need cars, we need safehouses," she listed off. "Money's good, too. Once we get all that taken care of, we take back Stilwater."

"If you want the chance at a lot of cash, _and_ hurt one of the other gangs in the process," Pierce offered with a shrug, "the Ronin own a casino."

"That's a good place to start," Carmen decided. "You take the Ronin, Pierce; learn whatever you can about them, then tell me how we can hurt them."

Shaundi perked up, squirming on the couch and pointing out, "We could get cash _and _drugs from the Samedi." Throwing a smug grin back at Pierce, she added, "They've got this Loa Dust shit that they sell to all the university kids. We take them out, we cut off a bunch of their income, sell it ourselves, and smoke whatever's left."

"Even better. Shaundi, you're on the Samedi then. Think you can handle the Brotherhood, Carlos?"

He shrugged. "Sure, Boss."

"Boss," Carmen repeated, turning to Johnny with a grin. "I could get used to that. Johnny, you go find Elliot and the two of you can start on the Ronin."

"Sure thing." He didn't move. "You?"

Carmen rolled her eyes. "I'm gonna find some better guns, then I've got a few calls to make. Now go or I'm gonna kick your ass."

"You couldn't if you wanted to."

With a sigh, Carmen turned and headed back up the stairs. "Whatever," she called over her shoulder. "Just get the cash without getting killed, alright? And you'd better call Elliot soon or he's going to recruit half of Stilwater."


End file.
